


untitled

by Lys ap Adin (lysapadin)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Futurefic, Smut, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-04-30
Updated: 2003-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-02 05:01:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysapadin/pseuds/Lys%20ap%20Adin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally and Noin greet each other after a mission</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Smut, pretty gratuitous. April 2003.

**untitled**

My steps are falling lightly on the corridor floors, click click click in time to the tapping of my heels, and then I'm being slammed against a bulkhead, her tongue in my mouth. Bruises begin blossoming on my shoulder blades, flowering in circles, five to each bicep where her fingers clutch at me, and her mouth is hot-slick-wet on mine.

"You're back," I say when she leaves my mouth and latches onto my throat. I circle my arms around her waist, resting my palms against the curve of her buttocks. I knead the muscle beneath my palms, like the kitten I owned when I was a child.

"Yes." She bites me. Is the wetness running into my collar blood or saliva? When I fist my hand in the short hairs at the nape of her neck and force her head back to kiss her again, I taste copper in her mouth. Yes, blood.

Buttons patter to the floor around our feet, and her hand reaches inside my blouse and latches onto my breast, squeezing tightly enough to hurt as well as please. "Fuck!" I tell her mouth, and hook a leg around hers, pulling her more tightly into the circle of me. "How was X2-67483?"

She licks the line of my jaw, sucks at my earlobe, and says, "Boring as hell."

Now would be a good time for a sarcastic retort, but I'm staring at the fluorescent lighting above our heads and moaning. Damned if I know how she got her hand down my slacks that fast.

Some of her short dark hair comes away in my with my hand, sticking to my damp palm as I ruck her shirt into folds running my hand up her back, smooth skin punctuated with scars: round puckered bullet holes, slashing shrapnel wounds, a burn here and there, and new stitches�"careless, by the feel of them, hasty. I will do a better job later.

Boring. Yeah.

Her fingers curl inside me, slipping in out in out, hard and fast and I feel liquid leaking between my fingers as I grip and dig my fingernails into her back. She grunts and bites me again, palming my breasts and licking my throat and this corridor has really good acoustics, because I think the sounds of us must be echoing all the way down to the bridge, but who can care when it feels so good that you're thrashing between her and the bulkhead and sliding into that place everything dissolves but the feeling of her hand between my legs and her lips on my skin.

In the end she and the wall really are the only things holding me up, as I cling to her and pant for more-harder-faster until I shudder and throw my head back and crack my head hard against the bulkhead. She holds me until I stop seeing stars, and eases me back to my feet, pressing the full length of her body against me. "Another shirt for the cleaner," she says, fingering my collar. She pulls the shirt closed across my chest and tucks it into my slacks.

I rest my chin in the curve where her neck meets her shoulder. "Someone has to pay for his kids' college education." Dark spots stain the linen of her uniform shirt. "Whoever sewed you up did a piss-poor job of it. I could do better blind-folded."

"Don't I know it." She steps back and laces her hands into mine. "Wanna see what you can salvage?"

"Of course. I need to get some antibiotics on those scratches, too." I scoop up her duffle bag as we amble down the corridor, our feet tapping out a new rhythm together as we head for the medical bay hand-in-hand.

"Missed you."

"I missed you too."

\--end


End file.
